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  “As I was saying,” Michael said, turning to me again, “or trying to say, before…do you want to go somewhere a little quieter?”

  I swallowed, forgetting I had still had gum in my mouth, and almost choked. “Quieter?” I said, coughing a little. Was he asking me to go in a bedroom with him? Alone? So he wasn’t really nice, after all. It made sense. Someone who looked like him had to be a conceited jerk.

  “Outside. It’s a little cold, but—.”

  “Oh, outside.” Relieved, I started laughing. “Okay. Fresh air would be good.”

  He looked slightly confused by my laughter, as if it never occurred to him that I might take his invitation to mean something else. This made me feel better. I was just being superficial again, judging him based on appearance alone.

  We made our way outside to the deck and stood near a stainless-steel grill that could have roasted an entire cow. Numerous chairs and benches lined the deck railings, all occupied by smokers. And going by the pungent, skunky smell that kept drifting over, I knew it wasn’t just cigarettes that were being passed around.

  “I’m sorry again for the elbow thing,” I said. I’d only met the guy yesterday, and already I’d embarrassed myself enough to last a lifetime. It amazed me that he hadn’t run in the opposite direction when he saw me, like I’d done with Buzz Cut Boy.

  “My fault,” he said, waving away my apology. “It was a ‘wrong place, wrong time’ kind of thing.”

  Out here, with the tiny lights strung along the deck railing and the low, full moon above us, I was able to see him more clearly. His eyes, I noticed for the first time, were not an ordinary blue. They were grayish blue, steely and dark, like a summer sky right before a thunder storm.

  “You want a drink?” he asked.

  Dropping my gaze, I pretended to brush something off my jacket. I’d quickly discovered that if I looked at him for longer than a few seconds, I’d start blushing like a moron. “Sure, um…water, I guess.”

  “Be right back.”

  He went inside, and I let out a shaky breath. My forehead felt sweaty again, like it had last night, so I leaned over the railing in an attempt to get a cool breeze on my face. Below me, I could make out a patch of bushes and a perfectly-landscaped garden. I leaned over further, trying to make out what kind of flowers were growing.

  “Here you go.”

  I whirled around, almost knocking into Michael once again. This time, he dodged out of the way before we collided. He laughed and handed me an unopened bottle of water. “Thanks,” I said, and I figured it was best to laugh with him at my lack of grace.

  He slid in next to me at the railing, his arm resting right against mine. I sneaked a quick peek at his profile. He had a nice one, all clean angles and straight lines. His jaw was strong, angular, with a faint shadow of stubble. I thought of my slightly-too-big nose and definite lack of high cheekbones and suppressed a frown. At least my eyes were an interesting shade of green. My hair got a pass too…long and thick and chestnut brown. One of my best features, or so I’d been told. Brian always said it smelled like coconut.

  Brian. Just thinking his name was like a bucket of ice-cold water over my head. What the hell was I doing out here talking to this guy who was not only hot and nice, but also seemed interested in me, for whatever reason? I did not want this. I did not want him. I was done with boys. Period.

  “I should…” I started to say, but then stopped when Michael turned to look at me, putting us only inches apart. I backed away, cleared my throat, and tried again. “I should go. I promised my dad I’d be home by ten tonight.” I’d promised no such thing, but it sounded better than “I have to go before I decide to let you break my heart.”

  “Oh.” He seemed disappointed, maybe a little baffled, like he wasn’t used to girls not falling all over him. Like I was an enigma. Or a freak. “Well,” he said, moving aside as several people squeezed by us, “do you want a drive home?”

  Feeling self-conscious now, I stuffed my hands in my pockets so I wouldn’t feel tempted to bite my nails. “I can call my stepmom.”

  “I have my car. I’m the DD tonight.”

  “The DD?” Was this some rich-kid code speak?

  “Designated driver.”

  Now I felt like a complete bimbo. “You probably shouldn’t leave then.”

  “It’s no trouble. You live right in Weldon, right? It’ll take ten minutes.”

  So, despite several flashing warning signs, I agreed.

  Michael’s car was a black Volkswagen Golf. This surprised me. I’d been expecting something less…average. “It used to belong to my mother,” he said when I complimented it. “It got passed down to me when I turned sixteen.”

  I nodded, thinking it must be nice to have almost-new cars handed down to you like used clothing. For my first car, I was inheriting my aunt Gina’s rusty old Chevy Cavalier, which would likely leave me stranded on the highway at least once. “I like it,” I said as we climbed in. The inside was like brand new. Spotless.

  “It’s functional,” Michael said, shooting me a grin as he started the engine. The cinnamon scent I’d detected earlier was twice as strong now inside the small, closed space of the car, and a pleasant tingly feeling cascaded down my spine. I wiggled in my seat, trying to shake it.

  “What street?” he asked as we came to the edge of Redwood Hills.

  “One-twenty-two Harris. It’s a couple of blocks down from Crawford Park.”

  “Right.” He turned onto Centennial Drive, the main street that ran the length of the city. We zoomed past fast-food places and medical buildings, stopping every few minutes for a red light. He seemed to know exactly where he was headed.

  “Have you always lived here?” I asked, my voice trembling slightly.

  “Since I was seven. You?”

  “My dad got remarried and moved here a few years ago.” That was kind of backwards, but I figured the real sequence of events would raise more questions than I was ready to answer. “I’ve lived in Oakfield my whole life.”

  “Do you like it there?”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “Where did you live before here?”

  “Clayton.” He checked behind us before switching lanes. “I barely remember it.”

  Clayton was a small town about an hour’s drive from here. Dad used to drag us there in the summers during the town’s annual regatta. To this day, simply thinking about boats puts me to sleep. “Why did you move?” I asked.

  “My father’s job. Not much money to be made in a small town.”

  “What does he do?”

  “He’s a lawyer.”

  I knew it had to be something like that, if he lived in Redwood Hills. “What kind?”

  We were only moments away from my street now, and all of a sudden I didn’t want to go home anymore. After all, what was the harm in talking? I could be done with boys, period, and still talk to them. It would be downright rude not to.

  “Criminal defense,” Michael said as we turned onto Harris.

  “No crime in Clayton.”

  “Exactly. I’m glad we ended up moving here. There’s not much of anything in Clayton.”

  “Unless you count the boats.”

  He sent me another smile and I couldn’t help but respond with one of my own. “That one,” I said, pointing to the house as we came upon it. The Volkswagen pulled into the driveway behind my father’s Camry.

  “Nice house,” Michael said.

  I was surprised he thought so. Redwood Hills was a much nicer neighborhood, the houses bigger and more modern. Not that Dad and Lynn’s house was a dump or anything. Before they’d even gotten engaged, they’d already started renovations on it—new windows, new floors, and a new main floor addition with a study for Dad, plus a huge master bedroom. Adding the fifth bedroom meant Emma and I each got our own room on the top floor. I kept mine sparse—I didn’t see the point in dressing up a room I only slept in a few nights a month.

  “It’s really old,” I said, as if I were tryi
ng to talk him out of liking it. “My stepmom grew up in it.”

  He peered out at the front door, where Leo sat behind the side window, staring straight at us and barking. “What’s your dog’s name?”

  “That’s Leo. He’s a big baby.”

  “We had a collie when I was little, but when my sisters were born we had to give him away. They’re both allergic.”

  I unbuckled my seatbelt, but made no move to open the door. “Sisters?”

  “Twins. They’re twelve.”

  “My little sister is ten. I can’t imagine two of her.”

  “Sometimes I still wish we’d kept the dog and gotten rid of my sisters, like I suggested to my parents when I was five.”

  We laughed, and I realized my anxiety had faded a little. I’d even forgotten about his hotness for a minute, until we stopped laughing and his face caught the glow of the streetlight and it hit me like bag of wet sand once again. Common sense returned, along with the fear.

  “I guess I’ll go in,” I said, my fingers finding the door handle. “Thanks for the ride.”

  “No problem.”

  When he didn’t say anything else, I pushed open the door. An unexpected surge of disappointment coursed through me as I got out of the car. He didn’t ask for my phone number, or mention seeing me again. Maybe he was only being nice, offering the non-beautiful, other-side-of-the-tracks girl a ride home.

  Then I asked myself why it mattered. I didn’t want to date anyone right now, or put my trust in anyone. I didn’t want to be betrayed, lied to, and left behind when someone better came along. It was bound to happen again. But I wouldn’t let it, not this time.

  “Bye,” I said, shutting the door behind me. In the distance I could hear Leo’s barking, loud and insistent, and then my father’s voice yelling at him to quiet down. But Leo wasn’t about to relax, I knew, until I was safe inside.

  “See you later,” Michael said, his words floating out the open window and into the night. He waved, backed out of the driveway, and zoomed off down the street.

  See you later, I thought as I walked up to the house. Doubt it.

  When Leo saw me coming, he shut up, finally satisfied. At least one of us was. The unsettled feeling that began the moment I realized it was Michael I had elbowed would not let up. In fact, it was escalating by the minute. By the time I had washed my face and brushed my teeth, I didn’t know what I wanted anymore. Frustrated, I curled up in bed with my swan, trying to breathe around the cinnamon scent that still clung to my nose.

  Chapter 6

  “Forgetting something?” Mom pointed her car keys in the direction of the kitchen table, where my math book and several sheets of notebook paper still rested among the leftover crumbs and spills from breakfast. I’d been working on my homework while nibbling on the toast Mom always insisted I choke down before school every morning.

  “Dopey,” Emma said, rolling her eyes at me as she stuffed her arms into her jacket.

  “I’m not dopey.”

  “Yes, you are. Mom called you that last night when she saw the garbage bag you were supposed to take out still sitting by the door. She said you’ve been on another planet lately.”

  I glanced at Mom, who looked completely unapologetic. I tried to remember if I’d been asked to take the garbage out, but I couldn’t recall. Still, my own mother was calling me names now?

  “It seems like I constantly have to jog your memory these days, Taylor,” she said, her shoes tapping against the linoleum as she crossed the room to retrieve her travel mug of coffee. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so scatterbrained.”

  I shot her an accusing look. “And dopey?”

  She stared back at me with that scrutinizing gaze of hers, the one that always made me feel exposed, like she was scanning my innermost thoughts. “Yes,” she said. “And dopey.”

  I shrugged. “I’m my father’s daughter.”

  “At times, definitely.”

  Considering my mom’s general distaste for my dad, I felt like I’d been insulted. I gathered up my math homework and the three of us left the house together. I barely said a word on the drive to school. Maybe I had been acting a little dopey lately, but that didn’t mean I wanted to be called on it.

  I didn’t dare tell my mother—or anyone else—the main reason why I’d been even more distracted than usual. It wasn’t just what happened with Brian; I was pretty much over that, despite the bile-inducing spectacle he and Kara put on at school every day. They were still together, and obviously nuts over each other, so I tried to be happy for them. I’d even stopped snubbing Brian in the halls. We didn’t talk, but at least I’d progressed to giving him an acknowledging nod when he said hi to me.

  The truth was that I hadn’t been myself since the night Michael drove me home. I’d find myself thinking about him at the weirdest times—while watching a movie, or brushing my teeth, or in the middle of my math homework. Whenever I pictured his eyes or his smile or remembered that cinnamon scent, a prickly warmth would spread through my abdomen, leaving me flustered and confused. I told myself I was simply reacting to his exterior qualities and nothing more. Any girl would. At first glance he seemed perfect. So perfect, in fact, I began to wonder what giant flaws he was hiding. Everyone had at least one, no matter how invincible they appeared to be. I knew that much firsthand.

  By the time I got home from school that afternoon, I’d made up my mind to permanently erase those stormy blue eyes from my memory. I would stick with my plan, I decided, to not date again until after high school. Or maybe look into convents. At least Ashley would be pleased.

  I felt proud of myself for being so determined. My focus was back. I was strong again, in control. Or at least I was until two days later, when one little phone call shot it all to hell.

  I was on my bed, reading The Merchant of Venice for English class and trying my best to stay conscious until the end of the first scene. As Bassario was telling Antonio that he had fallen in love with Portia, my phone rang. Ashley, I thought as I snatched up my cordless. She usually called around this time of night so we could gossip and/or check homework together.

  “Was crack around in the 16th century because I’m pretty sure Shakespeare was smoking it when he called this a comedy,” I said, skipping the standard hello.

  “Uh…hi.”

  My hand jerked, sending The Merchant of Venice tumbling to the floor. This voice definitely did not belong to Ashley, or any of my other friends. I moved the phone away from my ear, cleared my throat a couple of times, and then slowly brought it back. “Hello?”

  “Taylor?” The voice sounded unsure, maybe even a little amused. Oh, and familiar. In fact, it was the same voice that had been bouncing around in my head for the past two weeks.

  “Yes.” I squeezed my eyes shut and proceeded to smack my forehead with the heel of my palm, over and over.

  “This is Michael...from a couple of weekends ago.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “I got your number from Robin. She said you wouldn’t mind if I called you.”

  I stopped battering myself. “Sure. I don’t care. I mean, no, I don’t mind.”

  “Good,” he said, and then paused for a moment before adding, “So you think Shakespeare smoked crack, huh? His apothecary must’ve been really ahead of the times.”

  I had no clue what an apothecary was, but I laughed anyway. God, I felt like such an idiot. “I thought you were my friend Ashley. I don’t usually answer the phone and start randomly talking about crack.”

  Now he laughed. “Good to know.”

  I clammed up then. How do you segue into a different topic after a beginning like that?

  “Well…” Michael said. He was lost for words himself, it seemed.

  “Well…”

  “Do you like horror movies?”

  This question was so unexpected that I sat there stunned for a moment, unsure how to answer. “Yes,” I finally said.

  “Majestic Theater is having a movie marathon on Saturda
y, for Halloween. A few of us are planning on going. Do you want to go?”

  My mind started whirling. “I…um…”

  “Not for the whole day,” he said when I failed to produce an actual answer. “We’re going around eight for a couple of movies. It ends at midnight.”

  Robin, I thought with pure loathing in my heart. This was all her. Still, I could feel my resolve weakening, bit by bit. And then, finally, it shattered completely.

  “Okay,” I said, accepting defeat. “I’ll go.”

  ****

  I called Robin the second I hung up with Michael, but she didn’t answer. Coward. After three more attempts, I gave up and went to bed. The next day I tried her again, when I knew she’d be home, and she must have realized she couldn’t hide from me forever because she finally picked up.

  “What’s new?” she asked, brimming with innocence.

  “Scary movie marathon?”

  “Oh!” she said, all excited, like she couldn’t have cared less that I was onto her little scheme. “Are you going? Did Michael ask you?”

  “Yes and yes. Are you going?”

  “Of course.”

  “Did you really give him my number?”

  “Of course!”

  “And you suggested he call and ask me to go?”

  She gave an impatient sigh. “Um, no, you big dork. All I did was supply him with your number. Inviting you to the movie marathon was his idea, thank you very much. And he asked me for your number, dumbass. I didn’t force him into anything. I’m just the liaison here, you know, not freakin’ Cupid.”

  “But…”

  “But nothing. He likes you. He thinks you’re cute. God, you’re such an old lady sometimes, Tay. Let yourself have some fun. Be happy. I promise it won’t hurt.”

  “If all you’re going to do is insult me and call me names, I’m hanging up now.”

  She snorted. “You know I’m right.”

  “Ha.”

  “Listen, I know you don’t want to date anyone after what happened with Brian, and you think all guys are shits, but it’s not like anyone’s asking you to marry Michael and have ten of his babies. Jesus.”